


Flashpoint

by backtothestart02



Series: Backburner WIPs [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, F/M, Flashpoint - Freeform, Gen, Mystery, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtothestart02/pseuds/backtothestart02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-s2. When Barry's rash move to save his mother drastically affects the timeline he wakes up to, will he accept the changes or try once more to change the past? Barry/Iris. Multi-chap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rewriting History

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm lame and couldn't come up w/ a more creative title. I couldn't help it. This fic is exactly my take on what the flashpoint could be. I know alot of people have been starting flashpoint-type fics, but I've got my own ideas too, so I wanted to throw my two cents out there. ;) It should be noted, I likely won't be including spoilers for season 3, since I first came up w/ my idea before we heard them and just couldn't get around to writing it till now. Know also that it won't revolve solely around Barry & Iris's relationship, though that will be a big part of it. I am VERY excited for this story, so I hope you are too! Thank-you for checking it out & any reviews are greatly appreciated!

Barry’s heart beat gradually began to slow down, but his emotions were swimming from one to the next before he had a chance to think about it. So, he concentrated on the one thing in his vision and focused.

“Who…who are you?” Nora Allen asked. Her voice was still a little shaky but the tears had stopped flowing.

“I’m…” he started, but then found he couldn’t finish.

Could he tell her he was her son? Could he tell her – _hey, I’m the Flash, a superhero from the future. I traveled back in time to save your life from a supervillain even farther away into the future than I am – was._

“Are you hurt?” he opted for instead, getting on his knees so he was right across from her.

He wanted so badly to hold her, to tell her who he was, to start his new life _now_. But he wasn’t sure if changing the timeline so far back worked that way. It certainly hadn’t for Wells when he’d found himself stuck in a time that was potentially centuries before he was even born.

It wasn’t like the first time Barry had gone back only to say goodbye to his mother either. Then he had revealed his true face, but only because she was moments away from dying. He didn’t know if it was safe to do that now.

Seeing himself fade away in the doorway across the room just moments earlier had shook him up. He wouldn’t let it sink in now though. He refused to.

Nora Allen shook her head.

“No.” Her glistening eyes turned to look into the corner where the reverse flash lay still unconscious. “Who is he?” she asked, and then looked back at Barry. “Do you know him?”

He hesitated, then said, “I know him.”

“Should I call the police?”

Barry barely contained an amused laugh, despite the circumstances. How easy would it be for Eobard Thawne to escape the grips of some normal every day very much only _human_ police officers?

But then, he considered how exactly his parents should deal with the situation moving forward? His father was knocked out on the floor and the room itself looked like there had been some sort of tussle; some glass had been broken, but otherwise everything appeared normal.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

Her gaze was pinned to his. Her bottom lip quivered in fear and she swallowed hard.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said, and laid his hand gently on hers, relieved when she didn’t flinch away from him. “But you have to trust me when I say there’s nothing the police can do. This guy, he—”

And then they both heard a groan. To their horror, it did not emanate from Henry Allen.

Nora started to scoot away as Barry slowly got to his feet, both staring hard at the villain in the corner.

“Stay here,” Barry said, not looking at his mother. Eobard moved again, his limbs shifting and his eyes starting to blink open. “Just promise me you won’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight. Not even the cops.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked on barely a whisper, her eyes watching the yellow figure like a hawk.

He turned to look at her. “Promise me.”

She nodded. “I promise. W-wait!” she called out when Barry started to approach the man in yellow. He turned to face her again, urgency vibrating through him. “Barry. My son. He’s just eleven years old. And I don’t…” She looked around the room. “I don’t see him anywhere. Did he go upstairs or…Barry? Barry!” She called out. “Where is…where is Barry?” She looked at him with a desperation that seemed to indicate she thought he knew.

Barry came to her and gently gripped her arms.

“He’s not far,” he said.

Her brows furrowed. “But where—”

“He’s coming home.”

Before she could ask any more questions, he had dashed to the corner of the room, lifted up the evil Eobard Thawne in his arms and flashed out of the house, not stopping for several miles until they were in a desolate place far from the city.

…

 

 

This time when Barry threw him across a wide space, Eobard didn’t fall into unconsciousness. Probably because it was grass and not a hard wall, but that was yet to be decided. Perhaps he was simply more prepared now.

“You didn’t kill me,” Barry said. “And you didn’t kill my mother.”

Eobard groaned, getting to his feet.

“You lost.”

He opened his eyes and watched Barry for a moment before peeling back his mask.

“You’re not the Barry I was fighting tonight,” he said.

Barry was taken aback, but tried not to show it.

“The Barry Allen I know is fast, but he didn’t know I would try to kill Nora Allen as soon as he left. He only knew I was trying to kill him.” He paused and tilted his head, analyzing further. “But you knew.” He started to smile. “Tell me, Barry Allen, what happens in the future I almost changed?”

Barry didn’t take his mask off but he closed some of the distance between them.

“You don’t win.”

Eobard laughed. “Ah, but I do. And I will. See, I know you. It doesn’t matter what timeline you’re on, I know how you think. I know how you move. I know what you’re going to do next. And I know that you are never, _ever_ going to defeat me. And one day, Barry, I will kill you for everything that you’ve done to me.”

Barry didn’t know what to say. In Eobard’s time there was a whole history between them that he didn’t know about, between him and the Flash he’d crossed paths with moments before saving his mother. Eobard had guessed too much already about who he was. His only weapon was of what he knew about this night from his discovery of Eobard in Wells’ body.

“Try going home,” he said, “Reverse-Flash.”

Barry pushed Eobard farther across the expanse of grass surrounding him, then turn and ran as hard and as fast as he could. Distantly behind him, he heard Eobard cry out in anguish and he knew the reason why.

He had lost his speed.

…

 

Barry was surprisingly out of breath when he reached the nearest police station to where he’d been. He knew he had to take action, whether he was able to get back to 2016 or whether he was stuck here for good. Eobard wouldn’t win, and the first step in avoiding that was preventing the real Harrison Wells from losing his wife and his life simply because of his future accomplishments.

Barry flashed in and out of the precinct and hastily drew a sketch of Eobard Thawne. With no one at the front desk at the present time, he left the sketch and a note with it. _A wanted man, convicted of many crimes, murders across all the states…etc, etc._ It wasn’t very substantial, but it would be enough to keep the cops, and the citizens of Central City on their toes.

He’d told his mother that she shouldn’t call the police, and he’d firmly believed that was a good idea. Alerting the authorities would only put her in more danger. But with Eobard’s speed gone, he couldn’t simply escape as he’d been so used to before. He had to start from scratch, blend in. It would be harder to do that if people knew what he looked like and were likely to call him in to the police.

Of course, there would be no point to this extra security if Thawne simply got to Wells anyway and became him. It wouldn’t matter if his sketch was everywhere, because he would no longer look like himself.

So, he took one final step, and after that he assured himself he would return home, at least to make sure his family was whole again.

He searched his mind for the location of the car crash, recalled where Harrison and Tess Wells had lived at the time and ran there as fast as he could. The lights were on in the upstairs of the house. Barry saw their shadows from the street – a man and a woman. There was only one window with lights on and blinds not drawn down. When the man walked in front of it to shut the blinds, Barry saw that it was him, the _real_ Harrison Wells. He sighed in relief, hope soaring, and ducked behind a car until the lights had gone out.

He waited five minutes, ten, twenty. He felt himself become drowsy and his hand started to vibrate of its own accord. It surprised Barry, but also alerted him to his mission. As stealthily as he could, he phased into the house and crept around in the dark inside the Wells kitchen. He found a notepad and pen and created another sketch of Thawne that he pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet.

On another piece of note paper, he wrote,

_To Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan,_

_You don’t know me, but please take my message very seriously._

_There is a very dangerous man in your area. His name is Eobard Thawne, but he will probably give himself an alias, so he is not discovered._

_He has targeted you for the work he believes you will do, and he will not stop until you are both dead. If you ever see him, tell the police and immediately move. The authorities should know, but they can only do so much against the evil this man inflicts on his victims. It sounds drastic, but the alternative to being wrong is far worse._

_I have drawn a sketch for you of what he looks like. The police have one as well. I hope in time he will pay for his crimes and that my fear for both of you is unnecessary, but please take precautions._

_I look forward to meeting you one day in your laboratory._

_-Flash_

Barry hesitated, wondering if he should’ve used a pencil, if he should’ve called himself something other than _Flash_. He could’ve put _friendly neighbor_ maybe, or _from one citizen to another_. Leaving his true name wasn’t an option because that would immediately draw suspicion. His younger self, if ever called upon, would have no recollection of what he was doing now.

A wave of nausea hit him before he could second guess himself again. He blinked and tried to steady himself. Then he set the note and sketch together underneath the magnet stuck to the fridge.

He knew any normal person would be more alarmed by the fact that someone had been in their house than pay attention to the message, let alone consider it a true cause for concern. Either that or they would assume some friend they knew had written it and brush it aside as a joke of some sort. Barry hoped this doctor wells would be able to rise above it and see the necessity for some precautions.

If he didn’t, when he came face to face with Eobard the next time, it would be in the same form he’d first seen him. Barry honestly wished he had known the real Harrison Wells, the one whose life hadn’t been ruthlessly stolen from him.

But now Barry ran. His duty complete, he dashed out of the house and kept running. He had to reach his childhood home. He had to get somewhere out of the vicinity. Something was happening to him. He was fading, faltering; he felt sick to his stomach. His vision was starting to cloud, colors were starting to darken.

He didn’t feel his feet stop moving or his heart stop pumping. He didn’t feel himself hitting the ground or running into some unseen obstacle. He didn’t feel water or ground or air. The black abyss was closing in around him and his eyes shut.

In those final moments he saw flashes of his life.

His younger self running down to see what was going on in the living room after hearing the terrified screams of his mother.

Eobard Thawne taunting him not more than half an hour ago, even though he had lost his speed, regardless of the fact he didn’t realize it yet.

And before he left, before he changed everything, he saw them…

Joe, Cisco, Caitlin, Wally… _Iris_.

He saw Iris.

Her deep brown eyes and her honest, loyal heart.

Her lips, her voice, her…

 

_“I love you, Barry.”_

 

And then he was gone.


	2. Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is here! Sorry for the long wait. But you shouldn't have to wait that long ever again for this fic, because I've decided it's the only multi-chap I'll be updating this month & will hopefully be finishing. *crosses fingers* Enjoy!
> 
> *Big thanks to sendtherain who beta'd this chap and will be beta'ing the whole rest of the story. You are wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The first rays of sunlight warmed Barry’s face in the wake of a new day. Still half-paralyzed in the place between awake and asleep, his eyes flashed open when the sound of a clock alarm blared into his ears, shattering the silence. Knocking water bottles and science game trinkets he couldn’t recall owning off the small table beside the bed he lay in, Barry managed to silence the annoying beep that echoed off the walls in the unfamiliar room.

He stared in confusion at the space around him. The floor was littered with clothes, books and piles of paper filled with cursive handwriting. The window was wide open but the sound of the traffic down on the streets was only a quiet hum, telling him he was definitely in a tall building. Taking in the size of the room again, it was clear this was no hotel – unless he was in a seedy part of town. He saw no kitchen or door to a bathroom, but when he peeled the light blankets off and righted himself after almost tripping over some objects on the floor, he saw a darkened hallway on the far side of the room.

Making a clear path for himself, he went down that hallway. First, he found a door to an unbearably small bathroom. When he went further down the hall, he found a room only slightly bigger than the bedroom he’d woken up in. He guessed it was supposed to be a living room and kitchen, but less than half of it was a tiled floor with third-rate appliances and dirty dishes piling over onto the short counter.

The TV was on, some gameshow he didn’t recognize. Shockingly, the living room was the only part of the entire apartment that was completely spotless. The bunny ears antennae on top of the TV told him whoever owned the place was apparently not making enough to afford cable.

Barry searched the room for a computer, but found none. When he went back into the pigsty of a bedroom, he found a cell phone. Without thinking he tried his fingerprint and then the 5-digit code he’d used since he got his first phone, but neither worked. He couldn’t explain why he thought either would, given there was no proof he was actually the owner of this establishment, or that he even rented it.

The phone hadn’t looked like the cell he remembered, so he didn’t know why he’d felt so sure his fingerprint would grant him access, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this dump he was standing in belonged to _him_.

Confused and annoyed at his confusion, he tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the kitchen. His growling stomach could not be sated. The refrigerator was completely empty.

“What kind of…” he shook his head, trying to get a grasp on where he was. If this place really did belong to him, how had it gotten to this state? He wasn’t the tidiest guy, but he was certainly better than _this_.

Maybe he had crashed at someone’s place. Gut feelings weren’t always necessarily correct. It could be someone he didn’t really know. Did he get drunk last night? Did he meet them at a bar? What happened?

“Allen!” accompanied the sound of banging on the door leading out of the apartment.

Barry didn’t recognize the voice, but he went to the door anyway. There was no peephole. _This is really bad._

He opened the door and his brows immediately furrowed in confusion. His first thought was to ask who the person who clearly knew him was and why they were so angry. The follow up thought told him he should know, but he couldn’t guess why.

“You’re late,” the man said, his thick black mustache rustling as he talked.

“Late for…?” Barry asked, even more confused than before.

The man huffed frustratingly, but then seemed to compose himself a moment later, though only barely. The seething was still clearly beneath the surface.

“Late for everything, Allen. Late for your rent.” He shoved a paper into Barry’s empty hands. “Late for work.” He shoved another. “And apparently, you missed lunch with your mother.”

Barry’s eyes widened. _His…mother?_ He snatched the paper from the burly man before he could roughly place it in his hands. He scanned the sheet with messy writing that said in as few words as possible that a Nora Allen had called and wondered why her son hadn’t called if he wasn’t going to make it.

Barry could hardly believe it. He looked up at the man still standing there.

“How do you know this? Did she—”

“She called half hour ago. You were supposed to start work five hours ago. And your rent was due at six o’clock a week ago yesterday. I’m extending till 6 p.m. tonight.”

When the man started to walk away again, Barry panicked.

“W-wait!”

The man froze and looked over his shoulder, impatiently waiting. “What?”

“Do…do you have my moth—Can I—”

“You forgot your phone pin again, didn’t you?”

The irritation was clear in his deadly stare, so Barry only half-nodded before the man aggravatingly gestured for him to follow. They went down eight flights of stairs before arriving to the ground floor.

“Good afternoon, sir,” a pretty brunette with stylish glasses greeted the burly man. “Mr. Allen,” she addressed Barry, blushing a little. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a bear in winter,” the burly man muttered. “And one who won’t have a job soon if he isn’t careful.”

While he rifled through some papers, Barry leaned toward the brunette and whispered, “What time is it?”

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but the burly man spoke first.           

“Three p.m.,” he said.

Barry gawked. “ _3 p.m.?_ ”

“Like I said.” He turned around and handed Barry a slip of paper, then gestured to the brunette to pull out the landline phone from beneath the counter. “A miracle your manager hasn’t fired you.”

The man walked away, leaving Barry alone with the brunette. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place why or how. He glanced up at her handmade nametag and then met her eyes.

“ _Becky_?” He nearly choked.

“Yes, Mr. Allen,” she replied, none the wiser to the way his eyes bulged in bewilderment when he looked at her. It was obvious she had no idea who he was other than an apparent resident in the third-rate establishment they were now standing in.

He cleared his throat and tried to put out of his mind that this Becky was _the_ Becky. Becky Cooper Becky. The Becky Iris had looked down her nose at all through high school simply because she’d dated her best friend for all of six months.

 “Do I…live here?”

Becky frowned. “Are you alright? Maybe you should go back to bed. I can call—”

“No,” he cut her off, then said quickly. “I mean, would you mind giving me some privacy while I call…my mother?” The words felt strangled in his mouth, but he said them.

Becky nodded, clearly still worried but making her professionalism a priority.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Allen. I’ll be in the next room if you need me. Just dial 9 and then the number for it to go through.”

“Thanks.” He forced a smile and then waited until she disappeared into the next room.

He picked up the phone and started to dial, remembering the 9 as she’d instructed. The number was unfamiliar, but the voice that answered on the other end took him back to months ago when…no. To _last night_. To…

_“You’re not going to kill her this time. You’re not going to kill her ever again.”_

_“I’m not going to hurt you.”_

_“You’re safe.”_

“Hello? Hello? Barry, honey? Barry, is that you?”

Barry dropped the phone, too shaken by the memories that had resurfaced to answer his mother’s very real, very _alive_ voice on the other end of the line.

“I did it,” he breathed, stepping back slowly, unaware of the phone as it dangled by its curling cord over the counter. “I changed the timeline.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be much longer w/ many more familiar faces, I assure you. ;)


	3. Walking In Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chap. (MUCH longer) A familiar face. Several other familiar mentions. I hope you're all tuning in! I know you must be impatient to get to Barry interacting with all our fav chars, but I really want to take the time to build up what Flashpoint could've been like for Barry - EVERY experience. Not just the ones we're most looking forward to. Heh.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *Thanks again to sendtherain for being a marvelous beta.

The eyes were piercing, but not in a way that issued a threat. They were more challenging, more confused, more…in shock.

“You quit,” he said point blank, not even blinking.

“Yes,” Barry said slowly, starting to get unnerved.

Silence lingered again. Sweat droplets started to form on Barry’s forehead and the back of his neck. He felt frozen to the spot. Somehow he just knew that speaking further would cause him trouble and attempting to leave would be writing his own death sentence.

“You do realize,” his present (past?) boss said slowly, much to Barry’s relief, “that there’s a protocol for this. A two week’s notice.” He raised his eyebrows.

Barry tried to hide his immense sigh of relief, but it only got stifled with a nervous-sounding chuckle followed by a set of stutters.

“O-Of course, Mr. …” He looked around the desk, searching for some sort of name plaque.

“Gravins,” the man said, his piercing eyes narrowing further.

“Gravins. Right, of course, Mr. Gravins. I do know that there is a protocol for this, but…uh…unfortunately something has come up back home, and I uh—”

“Back home?” Mr. Gravins asked, skeptical. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Where might that be? You’ve lived here for the last six years, trying to complete a degree that should’ve taken you four or less. Less, most likely, given how smart you supposedly are. Though not quick, I can tell you that or I wouldn’t have gotten so many complaints about your lack of on-time pizza deliveries.”

“Ah…right,” Barry managed, trying to sift through the information he was being given.

_Six years? He hadn’t finished college yet? He was wasting away time as a pizza delivery guy, and not even really trying that hard to do that?_

“Personally, I don’t know what you see in forensic science…”

Barry gave an inward sigh of relief. _Good._ _At least he hadn’t switched majors to something disastrous like business._

“…but maybe you have a knack for that sort of thing. I don’t know.”

Barry forced a smile and nodded politely. “I do.”

Mr. Gravins raised his eyebrows again. “I wouldn’t know. The only conversations we’ve had other than your initial interview consisted of me threatening to fire you and you begging me not to do it.”

Another nervous chuckle slipped out. _This was going to be harder than he thought._

Barry thought back to the fifteen minutes before he’d arrived at Brooklyn Pizzeria to see the guy that he had apparently worked on and off for during the last six years. He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to find this place, since Becky and his building’s glaring landowner  glared at him as he left the building, obviously would only have grown further concerned (the former) and annoyed (the latter) by the fact that he didn’t know where he worked. They’d probably think he was trying to work off a hangover or was high on some drugs. Maybe he had a concussion. No, if he was going to find this place, he was going to do it on his own.

He had returned to his depressing-looking apartment, found some envelopes from Brooklyn Pizzeria that held pay stubs and called the operator on a pay phone located at the end of his hall to find out where exactly his job was located.

It took him awhile to recover from the fact that he lived in _Brooklyn, New York_.

_How the hell did he end up there?_

And what was _Becky_ doing here?

She obviously hadn’t “come after him” following their short-lived high school romance, because she hadn’t even recognized who he was other than a tenant in the apartment building she worked for. It was entirely possible that they hadn’t even gone to school together, let alone dated, in this version of reality. He decided to go with that turn of events, since she really hadn’t been that big a part of his life before; and he had much bigger things to worry about now.

For starters, he’d just been informed that he had yet to graduate college. He didn’t know when he’d last been home – Central City, home. Maybe his parents had picked up and moved to New York for some reason. If his mother had been planning to meet him for lunch, they had to live here. Maybe his dad had transferred to work in one of the hospitals here. It was the only reason that made sense.

Of course that still left him wondering what had happened between the last six years and his graduation from high school three years prior. _Unless he’d been held back in that school too?_

_What kind of life did he live in this world where both his parents were alive? Did that simple fact turn him into a lazy screw-up? Was it only when he forged through the pain the trauma of losing his mother had given him that he remained a decent person?_

“Allen!”

Barry blinked and focused back on Mr. Gravins.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered. _Again_.

Was stuttering something he did in this timeline? He hadn’t stuttered since he was a kid when he was being bullied on a regular basis. Joe and Iris had helped him get past that. It couldn’t be that his own parents wouldn’t have done the same thing for him. They were _great_ parents.

Mr. Gravins sighed. “You’ve got to work on that stutter, Allen,” he said, opening a drawer at his desk and pulling out some paperwork.

“Yes, s-sir,” Barry said, nearly biting his tongue in frustration that he’d done it yet again.

“Here.” He set a sheet of paper on the far side of his desk, gesturing for Barry to take it. With a somewhat jerky motion, Barry did. “This is the form you have to fill out for voluntary resignation.”

Barry looked over the sheet attentively, so he wouldn’t have to look the guy in the eye for a while.

“I don’t think you should fill it out now. I think you should look it over, talk to your mother, and think about if this is really something you want to do. You may be about to graduate, but it isn’t as easy as you might think to get a job right away. You might need something to hold you over until this forensic…thing works out.”

Barry looked up at him. “I’m going to graduate?”

Mr. Gravins’ brows rows again. “I’m as surprised as you are, but yes, next week Saturday at 10 a.m.”

“I invited you?”

Mr. Gravins’ glared.

“What I mean is—”

“My daughter is in your class,” he said, interrupting him. “Unlike you, she’s only been there for four years, but she is also graduating next week. That’s why I know when it is, because I’m going to her graduation. _Hers_ , not yours.”

Barry nodded, swallowed and tried to force a smile, but he couldn’t quite get the twitching of his lips to move much past a thin line. He wanted to ask if there were two graduations, but he guessed this man was trying to insult him, so he figured there was just one ceremony.

“I think you should go now,” Mr. Gravins said before Barry could formulate something to say.

“Shouldn’t I…?” Barry gestured to the still blank paper.

“No,” he said succinctly. “You’re not scheduled for the rest of the week for me. Look the form over, focus on your classes, and do some research on what exactly your life after graduation entails. Talk with your mother, since she is in town after all, and if miraculously you decide you don’t need this job in order to stay afloat, I assure you I will have no trouble in letting you go.”

Barry nodded again, maybe said something agreeing to what Mr. Gravins had said, and then proceeded to leave his office. Truth be told, he hoped he could recall everything his boss had said just now later, but right now the old words ringing in his head were _she is in town after all_.

His mother was _in_ town, meaning she didn’t live here. She and his father hadn’t moved here. They still had a life in Central City.

At least that’s the nugget of potential truth he now had tucked away in his mind. He didn’t want to think about the fact that no one had mentioned his father, since he’d first woken up into this new life he’d created.

He hoped that didn’t mean the absolute worst.

A divided marriage. Or _death_.

…

 

_Pace University._

A good school. One he’d heard of while researching colleges and universities with good forensic programs back in high school. He’d gone through the process and sent in multiple applications to schools across the country, some overseas too.

It had been unnecessary.

He didn’t want to be far from home. Midway City University had an excellent forensics program, but even it was a bit out of his price range. After how much Joe had given him, Barry didn’t want to burden him with the cost of tuition. So instead, he worked his butt off and got every scholarship he could manage. He took on two jobs every summer during high school and by the time he graduated in ’07, one job was enough to get him through four years at Central City University.

What Barry didn’t say, and Joe didn’t find out until after his freshman year, was that CCU didn’t have a forensic department. It had a science program, biology and chemistry, which would suffice, but when Joe found out Midway City University had one of the best forensic programs in the country and that Barry had passed the application process with flying colors, he insisted on helping Barry get through it. He told him he could just pay him back. Barry very reluctantly agreed, while secretly still paying for most of it himself or via his own loans, keeping Joe in the dark as much as possible.

His only other reason for initially attending CCU, _the_ reason, was Iris. That was where she was going and he didn’t want to be far away from her.

When both Wests found out the secret he’d been keeping though, they were both so intensely angry and heartbroken that he couldn’t bring himself to insist on staying. They wanted what was best for him. They saw his potential. They wanted him to succeed.

And in an effort to minimize the distance that would be between them, they reminded him of all the many breaks throughout the school year, and the very long summer. It didn’t have the effect they wanted, though he tried to stifle most of his disappointment. He just knew he was going to miss them – a _lot_. He didn’t want to let days – weeks – go by without seeing them. No matter how busy, because they all lived in the same house, they all talked fairly frequently. When he went away to Midway, that happened less and less.

He distracted himself with his studies and managed to graduate in three years.

When he came back, he applied for a position as the CSI at CCPD. With his internship experience, various recommendations, and his connection with Joe, he was a shoe in for the job. His chronic lateness aside, the CCPD never had a need to hire anyone else.

He never left Central City again.

And since Iris had opted to attend CCU, she was never far away.

In _this_ life though, clearly things had not gone that way. He wondered why. New York was so much farther away than Midway City, Michigan. What could have possessed him to go so far away – and for _six years_?

The more he found out about his life, the more questions he had. The more he tried to ask them, the more people’s reactions made him realize that these were common sense facts he was supposed to know.

And he knew that. He did. He just didn’t know how else to go about finding out.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked when he stepped into the lobby of Pace University.

Barry turned his awestruck face away from the large room and all the modern architecture inside it to focus on the middle-aged woman who sat behind the reception desk in the middle of the room.

He cleared his throat and approached her.

“Yes, my name is Barry Allen. I’m a…student here. I would like to know my academic standing. Maybe…get the name of my advisor and a transcript.”

“I think I can get you that.” The woman smiled warmly, tendrils of honey hair wafting around her face as she bent her head to type in the appropriate information. “Can you tell me your student ID number?” she asked without looking up.

“I…uh…forgot it.”

She looked up and adjusted her glasses.

“Did you lose your card?”

“Yes…” he said.

The uncertainty and borderline confusion in his voice was not lost on her. She removed her glasses and hung them in the pocket of her shirt.

“Mr. Allen, may I ask what year you are?”

“It’s my last year,” he said, figuring that was safe.

“Mm. And uh…which year would that be?”

He paled, worried she knew something he didn’t. Something bad.

“The last one?” he offered weakly.

Her lips parted, probably about to spew out a lecture on his lack of academic excellence and that he was lucky to be graduating at all. He worried his grades weren’t up to par, and he was certain tardiness was a regular tendency in his classes. In fact, he was starting to expect the worst of himself in this life, which made him feel sick to his stomach. Tardiness was something that was in his DNA. He knew that. But to be so lazy and irresponsible and careless about everything in his life?

There had to be an explanation for it.

“Barry!”

The sound came from across the room before the just moments earlier pleasant woman who now wanted to lecture him could speak. It took him immediately out of his own thoughts too, because that was a familiar voice. It wasn’t some new person he’d never met or one he hadn’t seen in a while. This voice came out of a dream, and when he looked at her, he wondered if she was real.

“Mom?” he squeaked, his voice rendered useless halfway through the word.

“My sweet boy,” she said, approaching him and shaking her head with a sweet smile on her face. “I wish you would have told me you weren’t going to make it.”

He couldn’t say a word. Not a single word.

Nora Allen turned to the woman behind the desk who was watching them with a bit of scorn but also amusement. Barry noticed, but the presence of his mother alive and well right in front of him overrode any embarrassment or annoyance he might feel towards the stranger who’d flipped her switch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?” Nora asked, looking between her son and the woman.

“Nothing at all,” the woman said, a polite smile pressed upon her face. “Your son just misplaced some of his student information and I was about to look it up for him.”

“Oh Barry, you don’t have to worry about that,” Nora addressed her son. “You know I always keep copies of that in the car.”

“R-right,” Barry managed, sucking in a breath when his mother quickly thanked the two-faced woman behind the desk, then placed her hand on his shoulder and started to guide him away.

“That little cafeteria in the library is still open. We can have a late lunch there, and talk all about…”

Nora continued to talk, but all Barry heard was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding away and the gentle melody of his mother’s voice. He saw only her lips move and the way she smiled from time to time. He saw the twinkle in her eye whenever she turned to look at him, and the total attention and interest she devoted to him whenever he opened his mouth to speak – which wasn’t often – and really, whenever he did anything.

This was the mother he remembered the first eleven years of his life. The concern, the warmth, the reassurance, the interest. This was home.

…

 

He couldn’t stop staring. He knew she was noticing, but she let him be for awhile, ate her food until concern probably started to filter in.

“What is it, sweet boy? Something wrong?”

He shook his head and smiled, telling himself he needed to start functioning even though everything in him was urging him to take her in his arms and never let go.

“No, I’m uh…just glad to see you.”

She smiled in return.

“Is that code for ‘sorry for missing our lunch date and not calling ahead of time to tell you, mom’?” She raised eyebrow and his face fell.

“I’m really sorry, mom.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his own. “I…I don’t know why I didn’t…”

Excuses came to mind, but he hated all of them. Up late studying? Unlikely. Job? Nope. Hung over? He didn’t think so. He felt disoriented when he woke up, but that had to be from time travel. Putting aside all those distasteful options left him only with pure laziness. He hated that even more. What could possibly make him too lazy to meet up with his mother? And to not even call?

He was disgusted with whatever version of himself he had created. All of that was stopping right _now_.

“Oh, it’s alright, honey.” Her face mirrored his own crestfallen expression. “I was just a little worried.”

Not for the first time, he guessed.

“I’ll come next time,” he assured her.

“Don’t feel that you have to. Just call if something comes up. I know you’re busy, especially with graduation coming up next week.” She paused, and the smile returned to her face. “Your father and I are very excited to see you in a cap and gown again.”

_Your father._

He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and his whole face lit up.

_Your father and I._

Not dead.

Barry glanced down at his mother’s hand and found her engagement and wedding ring shining up at him.

Not divorced.

Nothing indicated a broken marriage, and certainly not a deceased father.

Rewriting the timeline hadn’t given him one parent only to live with the other one still lost.

This was the best Barry had felt all day.

“How is dad?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear as he finally dug into his food, enjoying the taste instead of just tolerating the exercise.

“He’s good. He doesn’t quite enjoy a desk job as much as he did practicing medicine, but I don’t think he completely hates it either. And, on occasion, he’s called in to consult. It’s not all bad.”

Her smile was a little forced now. Barry wondered what had happened, but he guessed he knew why his mother was so invested in their lunch date and excited for his upcoming graduation. Something had happened along the way that made his dad stop practicing as a physician. He couldn’t imagine any reason other than an injury, and he didn’t know if this version of himself was estranged to the degree that he wouldn’t know what had happened. From how his mom talked, it certainly sounded like she thought he knew.

He swallowed the sigh trying to break free. It was so very frustrating not knowing what was going on.

“I was thinking,” she continued, breaking the silence created by eating their food as Barry digesting the information she was giving him, “that maybe you might want to invite Iris to your graduation.”

Barry’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. When he caught his mother’s gaze, he saw the uncertainty there and wondered why.

“Iris?” he gasped, aware of how his heart started pounding faster.

The sound of her name on his lips brought all the memories and feelings brimming to the surface.  In a world where they hadn’t grown up in the same house, he wondered if he’d told her how he felt and if they’d gotten together sooner. The way things had been unfolding throughout the day, he worried that maybe they had no connection at all.

The heart-racing, hopeful feeling that had welled up inside him dissipated almost instantly when he registered the full extent of his mother’s wariness and concern written all over her face.

“I know, I know,” she pressed on. “You two haven’t talked in _years_.”

Barry’s heart sank.

“But, you were best friends once. There’s no reason you can’t be again.”

“Right…”

He swallowed hard. He felt sick to his stomach. Nora must have noticed how he sunk in on himself because when she spoke again, her voice was exquisitely gentle.

“I don’t know what happened, because you never told me.”

 _Great_ , Barry thought, feeling thoroughly frustrated in addition to the sadness engulfing him. _Another thing I can’t ask to find out._

“What happened is between the two of you and no one else.”

He sighed.

“Just…think about it.”

He nodded. He would.

“And Joe?” he asked, pushing his food across the plate with his fork because he was too miserable to eat any more.

The silence stretched on though, so, fearing the worst, Barry looked up at her, searching her eyes for another answer he couldn’t get.

“I think it’s too soon for him, Barry.”

Barry swallowed. _Was he at odds with Joe too?_

“Because?” he heard himself ask, unable to let one more question stay buried.

She sighed.

“They don’t talk either, Barry.” Her sad smile broke him. “It’s probably not even a good idea for them to be in the same room.”

Barry sunk back in his chair, feeling more torn up than he had all day.

His mother was alive. His father was alive. Those were both two very good things. Those were the things he had so desperately wanted and needed back in his life.

But he and Iris didn’t talk. Joe and Iris didn’t talk. He was lazy and irresponsible and careless and didn’t know how precious his family was.

_What kind of a world had he woken up to?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that I planned on Joe & Iris having a rift even before I heard the show was going to do that, so I did not steal that. I thought of it first. :P


	4. Worth It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chap, another familiar face, another long wait till the next update. lol. Sry about that. I hope you enjoy this one though! The Wests will make an appearance soon, I promise.
> 
> Many thanks once again to my lovely beta, sendtherain, for looking this over. :D

_“Take as long as you need,”_ his mother had said.

_“Grab what’s most important to you. We can get the rest later.”_

But Barry stood in the center of the living room in his apartment and wondered what exactly could be considered important.

He assumed clothes weren’t included in the necessities, since they didn’t hold sentimental value. They were likely in large supply at home too. He couldn’t have brought them all to school. And he had to have come home during summer and winter vacation, even if he had been in school for six years straight.

_I mean – right?_

He couldn’t be so paranoid about running into Iris that he just never went home.

Barry grabbed his toiletries because he figured those were less likely to be fresh and ready for him at home – probably. It all depended on how prepared his parents were for the rare occurrence of their son returning home for a visit after he’d left for college.

If it was rare, of course. Which is seemed to be, he thought. Maybe. He didn’t know.

Miraculously, he found a clean zip lock bag, tossed the toiletries inside, and set it by the door. He continued to peruse the room for anything of value, but at least on a surface level, he came up empty. He opened and closed cupboard and drawers, but everything was plain, ordinary. Nothing stood out. Another trip to the bathroom and then the bedroom didn’t change that. There were a few cool science-y things on a table near the window in his bedroom, but he felt no overwhelming desire to take them with him, so he left them behind as well.

He checked the fridge and freezer on his way, only mildly surprised to find them both completely empty.

Phone in his pocket, key with his mother, and bag of toiletries in his hand, Barry gave the tiny pigsty of a place one more look-over, turned off the lights, locked the door, and headed back down the many stories at normal speed, resigned to his fate.

It had been his idea, after all, to return home for the weekend. According to his mother, he had completed all his required classes the week before. Which was honestly a relief, since he didn’t know if he could draw on knowledge he’d never used before – or hadn’t in a while – unless it consisted of common sense facts, forensic science, or Flash business.

That was another subject he wanted to know more about. Was he still The Flash? Was he such a slob in Brooklyn, New York, because he was running back and forth between Central City and the Big Apple every time there was a crime? Or was he the Flash for this city? That would be a change.

Something inside him suspected not, though. How could the Flash be such a slob when he could literally clean any room in less than two seconds – one, if he was enthusiastic enough.

A thought gnawed at him that he couldn’t get rid of.

Was it possible that in this life he had never gotten hit by lightning, never gotten super speed, never become the Flash? And if that possibility was true, was it inevitable he’d lose his powers entirely?

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. It wasn’t something he _had_ been thinking about. He’d used his powers exactly one time, so he knew he still had them. He could feel the lightning running through his veins. It was rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It made him feel alive. It reminded him he had a purpose. Saving people. Being a hero. It gave him hope in all things.

When he’d first realized the significance of having super speed – and what it _looked_ like… the streak of color tailing the brush of wind that followed him when he ran – It had sparked real hope in him for the first time in years that he could exonerate his father from prison. Because maybe someone who was just like him, who had the powers that he had, was the person _really_ to blame for his mother’s death. After he realized that, anything was possible.

It had been two hours max since he’d woken up to a changed world, a timeline rewritten when he couldn’t take the grief of losing both parents despite winning everything else. Zoom was defeated. Iris was ready to be with him. She had actually told him she loved him. But it hadn’t been enough. Undoing his mother’s murder felt like the only way to fix everything and set him back on track. He could be a hero or he could just be a normal guy. It wouldn’t matter. His family would be a whole again. And some way, somehow, he and Iris would find their way back to each other again.

A year ago, he’d spent time thinking through the consequences of changing the timeline; of undoing an event that caused such a huge ripple effect. He thought about what he’d lose and what he might gain. Inevitably the cons outweighed the pros and he’d decided against wiping away half his life for a different reality. He loved his life, even with all the tragedy in it. For every bad memory, there was a good one to replace it. Even if Iris married Eddie, even if he had no mentor guiding him in his secret life as Central City’s hero, even with any difficulty that would arise in any aspect of his life, he still had a good life. It was worth living.

But this time he hadn’t thought. He had just acted. All he could feel was the weight of his grief and despair. How could he still be a hero? How could he still be the Flash? He was in no condition to and he couldn’t take a break from protecting his city. Nothing was enough to heal him. Nothing but this one thing. And so, he hadn’t thought. He’d only acted. He was so sure that even if the pros did outweigh the cons, the cons were so much more enormous. They could not be blotted out by a multitude of happy memories and experiences.

At least that’s what he had thought.

 _You’re not giving this a chance_ , the voice that had convinced him so assuredly that saving his mother was the right course of action urged. _You may be a slob and you may still be in school, but your mother is alive! And so is your father! You don’t know the whole story. Go find out!_

And if I lose my speed? If I lose my memories? If I lose all of it? The guilt and fear weighed down on him.

 _Go find out!_ was all that urgent voice said in response. And so, what could he do but succumb to it?

Zip lock bag and phone in hand, Barry sped down the several stories, just to remind himself that he could. The electricity humming inside him created a dizzying effect. It was one he would cling to as long as he could.

 _You don’t even know if you’ll lose your powers_ , the voice in his head scolded.

Barry ignored it and approached the front desk.

“Hi…”

“Becky,” she chirped, bright smile on his face. He wished he knew if they had some history in this timeline.

“Right. Is Mr. …uh, is the manager around? I think I need to pay my—”

“Your rent? Your mother already paid it, Mr. Allen.”

Barry’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t that he had that much cash on him, but his boss (or…ex-boss) at his latest place of employment had given him his paycheck he’d been planning on sending out that day. By some miracle, Barry had found an ID in the deep pockets of his jeans – he detested the lazy-eyed picture – and cashed the check at the bank (which took some asking around to find, but he did inevitably find it).

He wanted to do something responsible before he left, but it seemed he wasn’t allowed to even do that. How low were everyone’s expectations of him if he couldn’t even pay his own rent without his mother intervening.

“Oh,” he heard himself say, then forced a smile. “Thanks, Becky.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his gratitude, which made him feel even worse.

“O-Of course, Mr. Allen.” She paused, looking at him differently, with curiosity it seemed. Barry was unsure how to take that. “Will you be returning for your graduation next week?”

“I…” His mind blanked for a moment, curious as to how she knew. It didn’t seem like he told anyone anything or had any friends. He certainly had no self-respect. That much was clear. “Yes,” he made himself say. “I assume so,” he added, which he thought was odd. He shook his head and turned towards the exit. “Have a good weekend, Becky.”

“You too, Mr. Allen.”

He hurried out the door, pushing the continued disgust at himself as far away as he could. Becky was surprised by his kindness, his sincerity, and his gratitude – things that he thought had always come naturally to him he.

The voice that always assured him turning back time was the right idea was annoyingly silent. Barry suspected it was because there was no reassurance to be offered and there would be even less in the future.

His mother was alive. His dad was alive. But everything else was so murky he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

…

 

“Barry, honey?”

Barry blinked at the warm, soothing sound of his mother’s voice gently urging him awake. He turned to face her, a feat since his face had become plastered to the train window, and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to focus on her face. She was smiling and it made everything inside him burst with happiness.

He never thought he’d see her again. Now here she was alive and in front of him. Soon he would see his dad again too. Everything that was wrong could be fixed. He had a whole lifetime to fix it. And in the meantime, the hole filled with anger and hurt and loneliness inside him that had dug deeper and deeper every night since the moment his mother was murdered had started to fill up again.

Undoing the past had been the right thing to do. It had to be.

 _That’s the spirit!_ The voice inside of him cheered, but it didn’t feel very reassuring.

“W-what?” he slurred, groggy from the on-and-off nap he’d been attempting during the long train ride from New York to Central City, Missouri.

“We’re—”

The intercom turned on. “Next stop: Central City, Missouri! If this is your destination, please gather your things and prepare to depart in the next ten minutes.”

“We’re almost there,” his mother said softly.

Barry nodded, sat up slowly and stretched. It wasn’t easy. The seats were cheap and there was more of him than there was space between the two of them and probably the next row over. _Good thing I didn’t bring too much_ , he thought as his eyes wandered to the people gathering in the aisle to retrieve their belongings.

“Your father will be so excited to see you,” Nora said, but her voice sounded strained.

“Will he?” Barry asked quietly, not intending to ask her directly but she heard him anyway, as she tended to. He remembered that from his childhood.

“Of _course_ ,” she assured him, her hand on his. The gesture made his heart swell again. “It’s been so long since the two of you…” She stopped, apparently rethinking her words. “You just haven’t been home in a while.”

“I haven’t?” slipped out and he cursed himself for not keeping the thought in his head.

Nora looked concerned now – _and with good reason_ , he thought. Her son couldn’t remember anything that was probably common knowledge.

“I haven’t,” he corrected, making it a statement, shaking his head as if his restless nap was the reason for any confusion on his part. He turned to face her more directly and looked very intently into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He saw tears well in her eyes and wondered what the hell kind of son he was if _this_ was making her emotional.

“You’ve been busy with school…and your job…”

He thought back on the speculative, disappointed looks on both his apartment manager’s face and his boss at the pizza place. He didn’t know if he knew the woman at the school personally or not, but she wasn’t much impressed with his demeanor either. He doubted he took any of these things seriously in this life.

“At the pizza place?” he asked dubiously.

“A job is a job, Bar—”

He shook his head and held her hands tightly. “ _No_.” He took a breath and then looked into her eyes again. “I’m going to do better, Mom. I swear it.”

He thought he heard a quiet gasp escape her, but he couldn’t be certain. All he knew was he was more determined than ever to keep this promise to her.

“I’m glad you decided to come home this weekend, Barry.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “My beautiful boy,” she whispered and then sank back into her seat.

…

 

“Where’s Dad?” he asked, feeling the question was safe. He didn’t hear a sound when he walked into the house after his mother.

“At work,” she said, wandering into the kitchen.

“As in…an office building?” He paused, reconsidering his question. “Or, at the clinic?”

His father was a family doctor first and foremost. He didn’t know if that was different in this life, but it had to have been at some point. It was that way when he was a child.

Nora peeked around the corner and smiled. He couldn’t tell if it was forced or not from this distance. How genuine her reactions appeared to him usually keyed him in to what he was expected to know and what he could reasonably not know.

He wished he’d followed her into the kitchen now.

“I just…forget,” he said helplessly, trying a sappy smile to explain himself away.

She came out to the living room and he saw the smile for what it was – another fake one. Something he should have remembered, or known. He didn’t remember anything.

“It’s okay, Barry. It’s been a while since…” She stopped, shook her head and appeared to be rethinking what she was going to say again. When she looked up at him, she was calm and collected, but that forced smile was still there. “I don’t think we even told you.”

He swallowed and nodded as she turned away and made her way back into the kitchen.

“Is there something I can make you?” she asked absentmindedly. “I made some lasagna last night and my mother’s sweet apple raspberry tea.” She smiled genuinely now, but Barry was distracted.

His eyes scanned the room and then he looked towards the stairs, a memory of his eleven-year old self racing down the stairs woken from the sound of his mother screaming in the living room.

_“Mom!”_

_“Run, Barry, run!”_

“Barry?”

He swallowed and faced her. By the look on her face he knew he’d been silent for too long.

“When can I see Dad?”

She stiffened. “He should be home in an hour or so.” She sighed and turned to retrieve the items she’d listed previously from the fridge. “Though maybe later.” She paused. “He likes to stay later on Fridays.”

 _Why is that?_ He wondered, but he suspected his questions were doing more harm than good, so he made a point not to ask it aloud.

“Grandma Rose’s tea, huh?” he said, indulging her as he stepped inside the kitchen.

Nora was all smiles when she turned around, the tray of lasagna in one hand and the pitcher of tea in the other.

“Mhmm. Want some?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. You know it’s my favorite.” He took both items from her and tried not to think about how touched she was that he heated up a plate for both of them and poured a drink for her, too.

“You haven’t forgot your way around the kitchen at all,” she said, clearly impressed when he finally sat down across from her.

The comment caught him by surprise, because truly he hadn’t been in this kitchen in years, not since he was a boy. He refused to believe it had been that long in this life, but the fact remained. And the reason behind her indirect query was as plain as day, as he knew it would always be.

He looked her in the eye and pulled the dazzling truth from deep within him.

“This is home.”

…

 

It was late, almost midnight when Barry heard the door unlocking and he knew his father was home. He and his mom had fallen asleep on the couch watching old home movies – his idea. She was still sleeping with her head rested on his shoulder, the blanket he’d laid across her worn body starting to slip. He didn’t want to wake her, so he rose off the couch as slowly as possible and lay her head gently on one pillow. He adjusted the blanket so it covered her completely again and then quietly made his way to the foyer just inside the door. He hesitated a moment before stepping out of the shadows.

“Dad,” he said, his voice half-strangled.

_“Your mother and I love-”_

_“Noooo!”_

“Barry,” Henry Allen’s voice brought him out of the nightmare he’d fallen into. “Your mother told me you were coming home, but I… I didn’t believe it.”

Barry swallowed hard, wondering if the whirlwind of emotions arcing through him showed on his face. He tried to focus instead on his father’s voice and face and demeanor. He hadn’t known how to take his mother’s insistence on the excitement his dad would apparently have at him coming home. He’d half-wondered if he and his dad were estranged too.

There didn’t seem to be tension in him, and it did look like there was a smile starting to break onto his face. The opening was enough for him.

Barry crossed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms fiercely around his father. He tried to hold back, but tears trickled out and stained the skin on his cheek. He didn’t know if they traveled farther.

“I love you so much,” he said, his voice muffled and wrought with emotion.

He’d explain this away later somehow, but right now he needed this and he didn’t care how it looked. Not forty-eight hours prior, Zoom had stuck a vibrating hand through his father’s heart in the same place his mother had been murdered, forcing Barry to witness it and sending rage rushing through him in his overwhelming grief.

Henry patted his back gently, clearly taken aback but not making any move to pull away. Then his arms wrapped snug around his son’s nearly shaking body and he held him close. Barry sank into him.

“I love you, too, son,” he said, then smiled against his skin. “Slugger.”

Barry sighed aloud in relief. Did he ever think he’d hear that word tumble past his dad’s lips again?

No. Never. He didn’t expect any of this ever again. Because his dad had been killed. There was no way he could hear any of it, let alone feel the strength of his arms wrapped around him while he sobbed.

“I’m going to do better, Dad,” he said fiercely, remembering the promise he’d made to his mom. He pulled back, tears streaming down his face. “I promise I’m going to do better.”

He didn’t know if it was an empty promise, one he’d made a hundred times before and never followed through on, but he knew he’d be keeping it this time.

Henry placed a firm grip on his son’s face, still not questioning the emotion flooding out of him.

“You being here, son? _That’s_ doing better.”

Barry nodded, about to succumb to the tears again, so Henry pulled him close and let him sob. He didn’t know why he let him, but he was glad he didn’t ask. Right now, he couldn’t explain. He could just feel.

And what he felt wiped away all the doubt he’d had since he woke up in that pig sty of an apartment earlier that morning.

This was worth it. What he had done was worth it. This feeling of home and safety and strength and warmth would heal him. It was everything he’d known he needed to get past what had happened and truly live again.

“You and your mother didn’t finish all of that lasagna, did you?”

Barry laughed, in disbelief this was real. His dad was holding him, reassuring him, and now joking with him. It was so surreal, but he no longer questioned his good fortune.

Instead, he pulled back and grinned.

“We saved one tiny slice for you.”

“Oh,” he said, amused, and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder as he guided them another route to the kitchen. “Just a _tiny_ slice?”

“We were hungry,” Barry defended to which Henry shook his head. “Lots of Grandma Rose’s tea left though.”

“Well then, I guess it’s all worth it,” Henry said, sending a warm feeling to the pit of Barry’s belly.

 _Yeah_ , he thought to himself, _it is_.


End file.
